Heart of the Storm by Michael Buckley
“What if I don’t survive?”
He taps the steering wheel. “Find a way, Walker.”
“WHY DO YOU RUN FROM US?” The voice comes out of his mouth. It’s so loud my head is thrown against my window. “YOU HEAR THE VOICE. YOU ARE CONNECTED TO THE FAMILY. YOU WILL SURVIVE THE PURGE.”
Shadow’s body inflates. His skin turns white. Every aspect of him is twisted and engorged, then rewritten until he is a Tardigrade. It studies me, tilting its head from left to right, like a curious dog.
“You want to kill people I love,” I cry.
“THE CHILDREN ARE BROKEN, LYRIC WALKER. THEY MUST BE DESTROYED TO MAKE ROOM FOR A NEW FAMILY.”
I can feel it trying to rationalize murder to me, pushing its twisted philosophy into my mind. Why do I feel so inclined to listen? I push back, but when it looks into my eyes, I can see its point of view. I understand its intentions. People should be linked to one another. It would end so much pain and suffering. There would be no more prejudice, no more bigotry. There would be no more wars, no more hostility. There’s a frantic tone to its thoughts, an insecurity about how its children have gone wrong. Disconnection should not be possible. Are we broken as well? Must we be destroyed? There is an insane, neurotic itch in the voices. “WITHOUT CONNECTION, THERE IS ONLY EMPTINESS, THE TERRIBLE BLACK NOTHING,” it rages. “THOSE THAT CANNOT HEAR THE VOICE ARE BROKEN. NEW OFFSPRING MUST BE CREATED TO REPLACE THE BROKEN ONES. ROOM MUST BE MADE. THIS TIME WE DARE NOT SLUMBER. WE WILL WATCH OUR CHILDREN. WE WILL ENSURE THE CONNECTION PREVAILS.”
I agree with their intentions. Room must be made.
Someone shoves me hard, and my head slams into my window. I’m back in the real world. The car is stalled on the side of the road. Everyone is rushing to see if we’re okay. Chloe whimpers when she looks at me.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You were freaking out,” Bex says.
“You were raving about killing children,” Sienna adds.
I rub my temples. They feel hot. My pulse taps against my fingertips. A fresh headache is biting into my skull.
“I’m sorry. Where are we?”
“We’re here,” my father says. “Or at least as close as we’re going to get.”
I have to shield my eyes from the glare of headlights ahead of us. The on-ramp to the Verrazano Bridge is crowded with cars, and the line goes back for what looks like miles. People have abandoned their vehicles, going by foot toward Brooklyn. They pass us, hefting huge packs and rifles strapped across their backs.
“Who are all these people?” I ask.
“I think they’re my fans,” Bex quietly cheers. “They’re here because I asked them to come.”
“I wasn’t expecting this many,” my mother says when she approaches our car.
“I’m sort of a big deal,” Bex says.
“Johar said he’d be waiting on the other side,” Maggie says, craning her neck to look over the crowd.
“We can’t drive through that. We have to go the rest of the way by foot,” Riley says. “What do we do if this turns out to be a huge setup?”
“Make them regret it,” I say.
“The big shots will be recognized the second we step into that mob,” my dad says, gesturing to Bex and me. He removes his hat and tucks it down over my head. Riley gives Bex his jacket and adjusts the hood so it covers part of her face. “Spread out a little. Don’t make eye contact with anyone, but don’t be unfriendly either. Just try to blend in for the first time in your lives.”
“And keep an eye on one another,” my mother urges the rest of the group as we grab our things out of the SUVs.
“I hate this plan,” my father growls as he hefts a pack onto his shoulders. He turns to me and takes my hand. “Keep your head down. You’re carrying my grandson.”
“How?” I say, surprised that he knows the truth.
“The pregnancy test package blew back into the yard.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“I’m furious with you,” he admits. “I also love you with all my heart. We’re going to be okay, you know. We’re going to rescue his father. Just keep your head down.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He lets me out of his bear hug but keeps his hands on my forearms. “No, Lyric. Don’t do that. Just stay alive.”
“I will if you will,” I say.
We drift into the crowd slowly and confidently, acting like we’re supposed to be there, just like everyone else. We nod at strangers as they pass by, avoiding the snares of their frantic energy. There is a vibration, a mix of anger and eagerness and fear coming off everyone, but there’s also a feeling of patriotism and justice and a sense that they are crossing this bridge to do something important. People push through the mob, loaded down with their supplies, blinking into the rising sun. It turns the guns they have in their hands into white-hot diamonds.
Chloe tries to stick close to me, but Riley pulls her away with him. Mom walks with Brady. My father teams up with Finn. Maggie and Sienna and the rest form teams of two. Bex and I stay together. It’s probably not wise. She draws attention without any help from me, but I want her near.
“So, what are we going to find on the other side?” I say.
Bex waves her tiny video camera in every direction to capture the scene around us. “Some people have sent in drones, but they get shot out of the sky. The government does not want the public to see what they are doing on the beach. There were some shots from a couple miles in the sky, but it’s hard to see anything but the outline of things. Johar’s pics were the best I’ve seen.”
“This just gets better and better,” I say as we continue onward.
We move through the crowds, zigging and zagging to make our way. People are climbing on top of abandoned cars, being general ass-hats and showoffs, but we pay them no mind. Others have set up tents, right here on the bridge. Another has a keg set up in the back of a pickup truck. He’s selling plastic cups of mostly foam for twenty dollars. People are actually buying them. The farther we go, the more unusual the crowd gets. People in mermaid costumes hold signs that say FREEDOM. I spot a man, clearly on drugs, wandering around dressed only in an American flag. My heart sinks with every step. These are the people we asked to join us. They aren’t fighters. They’re not ready for the Tardigrade. This is a house party. This is Coachella.
A kid walks past us. He’s a white boy with dreads and cargo shorts. He looks like he’s on his way to an Ultimate Frisbee tournament rather than a fight to save the world. He gives Bex a once-over and grins.
“Hey,” he offers.
She gives him a noncommittal head tilt, and he drops back, rejected.
“This plan has only one ending. We’re doomed,” I say.
“No, we give the Tardigrade the Brooklyn beat-down, just like we do every time,” Bex says.
“When did you get so brave?”
“You didn’t just say that. I’ve always been the badass of this duo,” she preaches.
I can’t argue. She’s right.
We put our heads down and push forward. The farther we go, the tighter the crowds. I start to worry if we’ll be able to get to the other side. The bridge is a massive structure, probably a mile of concrete and steel and cable. Two colossal archways rise up toward the clouds. Tethers run along their crowns, connecting one end to the other and supporting the whole thing hundreds of feet above the river. Below is the Narrows, a perpetually brown waterway that keeps Jersey from ever attaining the effortless cool of its neighbor. I catch glimpses of it through the crowd as the sun bounces off its surface, turning the world into a disco ball. I can’t help but worry about how many people are up here, how many cars have been abandoned, how much weight this bridge was designed to hold. It’s windy as hell, and I can feel its bullying force, causing the bridge to sway back and forth. There are walkways on either side of us, but they are largely ignored. The main road is where everyone wants to be, thousands of people forming one gigantic organism.
“What’s
that noise?” Bex says, scanning the sky.
I look up and see a helicopter hovering overhead. It slowly descends, careful to stay away from the cables. White Tower’s logo is painted on the belly.
“It’s Johar,” Bex says. “He actually showed!”
“No! Look!” I point to the open door on the side of the chopper. Leaning out of it is Samuel Lir.
The crowd noise morphs to a scream, and there’s a mad push to get away from either side of the bridge. There are two waterspouts, one to the left and one to the right, rising and churning like tornadoes. They sail high above and meet just beneath the helicopter. Samuel leaps out and lands on his strange creation and it lowers him to the bridge.
The tornadoes fall from the sky and crash down on the crowd, washing hundreds over the side. Screams fill the air as survivors race in both directions. A stampede of panic pushes everyone away, so that when Samuel’s feet touch the concrete only a few yards away, there are only Bex and myself to greet him.
“Samuel, what have you done?”
“They were traitors. All of you are traitors. This stupid revolution of yours has to be stopped,” he cries.
“You just killed all those people,” Bex rages. “They’re dead because of you.”
Dread fills me as I worry that my family and friends were among those swept off the side.
“They made their choice,” he says, unapologetically.
He’s so angry. He’s had a long time to get bitter, and now that he’s healthy again and with power he never imagined, he’s eager to make people pay. Reasoning with him is pointless. I tried it before. He’s not going to listen to me, not anymore, and the rest of my team is locked in a human cage. I can’t let him hurt Bex.
“Samuel, you have to let us go,” I say.
He frowns. “You are a wanted criminal, and I’ve come to take you into custody. Please just surrender. You brought little kids with you, and I’d hate to see this escalate.”
“Samuel, there are monsters you haven’t seen yet, and they are on the way here. They’re planning to kill everything in their path, and I believe they can do it. If we are going to have any chance, I need the Alpha. I need you, too. I need everyone, these soldiers, civilians, the entire world has to get ready to fight. Please, help us.”
“You lie,” he says. “I’m going to give you one last chance, Lyric, and then I’m going to put you down. Give up now!”
“I don’t know what she’s done to you, Samuel. Your father is in one of these cages on the beach. How can you turn your back on him?”
“My mother and father are dead, Lyric. Everyone from Trident is dead. Ms. Bachman hated to do it, but she didn’t have any choice. They wanted to close the camp. She couldn’t let the sickness infecting my mom spread, and she couldn’t let the Alpha continue their war on humanity.”
“She killed our parents?” a voice says from the crowd. Riley pushes through, his face frantic and broken.
“What about the other hybrid kids?” I demand.
“She did the right thing,” Samuel says.
Riley’s glove burns brighter than any I’ve seen. Before I can tell him to stop, a flume of seawater lifts him off the ground, shoots him like a cannonball at Samuel. The attack is brutal, fists out, fast as hell. Samuel’s reactions are slow. He’s still not able to use his powers to their fullest potential, and his body, though miraculous, is not what it used to be. He throws up a wall of liquid, but Riley slams through it and crashes into the boy. Samuel flies backward, five, ten, maybe even fifteen feet. I’ve never seen anyone get hit that hard.
Riley lands effortlessly. He stomps across the bridge, stalking my old friend. He’s crying, his face streaming tears. His mouth is ugly and broken.
“They never did anything wrong,” he shouts.
Samuel staggers to his feet. He’s wounded and off balance, but his hand is as white-hot as Riley’s. He throws a wave so vicious that Riley is swept to the side of the bridge and tumbles off.
“NO!” I scream. I race to the side, hoping he’s found some handhold to keep him alive, but even before I get there, his body rises above on a spout that sets him back on safe ground.
He creates missiles out of the liquid and fires them one after another, like a rocket launcher. Each crashes into Samuel’s chest, forcing him backward foot by foot.
Samuel fires a string of water like a whip. It crashes into Riley and slams him onto his back. Samuel stalks toward him, hovering overhead with his serpentine weapon.
“We are freaks,” he rages at Riley. “We should never have been born. Our Alpha parents planned to use us in their war. How can you mourn someone who uses you like a weapon? They would have thrown us into the fight. That was why they had children, Riley.”
“You know what? When you got hurt, everyone felt bad for you. It was hard to see you in that wheelchair, especially since you were gonna be a big star, play college ball, and get out of the Zone. But I never thought that. You were always arrogant. Being in a wheelchair only gave you time to perfect what an asshole you are.”
Riley fires a watery fist into Samuel, who topples. He stands over Samuel as he recovers, and turns off his glove. He grabs Samuel by the shirt collar, drags him to his feet, and slugs him. Blood shoots out of his mouth, and he groans. Before Samuel can defend himself, Riley punches him again.
Bex races to my side. “I guess this is going old school.”
Samuel scampers back, trying to avoid Riley’s punches, only to suffer his kicks. He’s beaten, bleeding from his mouth and his nose, scared like a cornered animal. He’s been here before, the last time at the brutal hands of a paranoid street gang called the Niners; this time it’s a kid who is just like him. There’s fear in his face as Riley takes him down one punch at a time. He’s seeing another wheelchair in his future.
“Where is she, Samuel?” Riley demands. “Where is she hiding? Why didn’t she wheel herself out here? Is she up in that helicopter?”
His glove glows. Water races skyward like a spear. It impales the chopper hovering just to the side of the bridge. Like a fish, it flops around, trying to free itself, but it’s caught. Whoever was inside it is probably dead. I watch it fall out of the air, drop below the bridge; a few seconds later, we hear the crash as it slams into the Narrows. Black smoke rises on both sides of us.
Samuel stands, then laughs. “She’s not here, Riley boy. She’s somewhere safe where no one will find her, and when she’s ready, she’ll come back better than ever. I’ll still be here to help her rid the world of the monsters, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. You won’t be around.”
The whip returns and flies through the air. It ties itself around Riley’s throat. He reaches up, trying to pull it free, but it’s water. He can’t get a handhold, and it’s strangling the life out of him.
“Samuel, let him go!” I shout.
If he can hear me, he doesn’t let on. He’s consumed with his anger and shaking with raw power.
“He’s going to kill him!” Bex gasps.
I have to stop him, but I’ve got nothing. If only I had my glove. Putting on the second one robbed me of all that power.
“Damn!” I shout, pulling my pack from my back and tossing it on the ground. I manage the zipper and open it wide, digging inside until I find what I need—Harrison’s glove.
“What are you doing?” Bex says.
“Something stupid,” I say over my shoulder. I’m already running, straight at Samuel. His back is to me. He’s taken me for granted again. Maybe when he gets his reboot, he’ll get some brains like Husk.
Before he can stop me, I’ve clamped the glove onto his free hand. He looks down at it and then at me. His eyes glow like there’s a star behind them. He has the power to kill us all now. When it happened to me, I could fly. I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t do, but he’s too confused to take advantage of what he’s feeling.
The gloves open and slide off his hands. His stranglehold on Riley ends, and the boy takes desper
ate gasps for air. Samuel falls to his knees and looks up at me.
“I can hear them,” he says.
I nod. “Welcome to the family, Samuel. Those voices belong to the Tardigrade. They’re coming to kill everyone, Alpha and human. No one will survive. You have to stop fighting us. We have important things to do.”
I help Riley to his feet, then gesture for Bex. “C’mon.”
We point ourselves toward Brooklyn and start walking. The crowd of petrified people stares at us, then move aside to let us pass. I hear my name in whispers. I see people watching Bex in awe, but they don’t stop us. Along the way, my parents join me, then the other kids, and when I look back, I see that the space they gave us is filled with people, all following us across the bridge. I have my army.
When we get to the other side, there is another black helicopter waiting. It has a White Tower logo on the side too. Soldiers stand by with AK-47s. The door opens, and Thomas Johar steps out in a suit. He smiles.
“I assume everything went smoothly.”
I have to hold my father back from punching him in the nose.
Chapter Fourteen
“YOUR CALL TO ACTION PROVED SUCCESSFUL,” Johar shouts over the chopper blades as we fly above Brooklyn. The streets below are flooded with people, all walking to Coney Island. “The crowd is so huge outside the detention facility the government has reached out to Canada for military assistance. Canada respectfully declined. Ms. Conrad, you may have a bright future in public relations.”
“How many are out there?” my father says.
“We’ve estimated five hundred thousand,” Johar says. “But there are more on the way according to satellite images. We’re expecting close to a million by sunset. There should be more, but there have been a number of problems at the state borders. A dozen people were shot and killed in Texas trying to get through. Tear gas was released in Tennessee, but the good news is that most of the states with fences have opened them rather than face a standoff.”
Bex looks at me with huge eyes.
“It might not make a difference if they shoot us out of the sky,” my father shouts.
He taps the steering wheel. “Find a way, Walker.”
“WHY DO YOU RUN FROM US?” The voice comes out of his mouth. It’s so loud my head is thrown against my window. “YOU HEAR THE VOICE. YOU ARE CONNECTED TO THE FAMILY. YOU WILL SURVIVE THE PURGE.”
Shadow’s body inflates. His skin turns white. Every aspect of him is twisted and engorged, then rewritten until he is a Tardigrade. It studies me, tilting its head from left to right, like a curious dog.
“You want to kill people I love,” I cry.
“THE CHILDREN ARE BROKEN, LYRIC WALKER. THEY MUST BE DESTROYED TO MAKE ROOM FOR A NEW FAMILY.”
I can feel it trying to rationalize murder to me, pushing its twisted philosophy into my mind. Why do I feel so inclined to listen? I push back, but when it looks into my eyes, I can see its point of view. I understand its intentions. People should be linked to one another. It would end so much pain and suffering. There would be no more prejudice, no more bigotry. There would be no more wars, no more hostility. There’s a frantic tone to its thoughts, an insecurity about how its children have gone wrong. Disconnection should not be possible. Are we broken as well? Must we be destroyed? There is an insane, neurotic itch in the voices. “WITHOUT CONNECTION, THERE IS ONLY EMPTINESS, THE TERRIBLE BLACK NOTHING,” it rages. “THOSE THAT CANNOT HEAR THE VOICE ARE BROKEN. NEW OFFSPRING MUST BE CREATED TO REPLACE THE BROKEN ONES. ROOM MUST BE MADE. THIS TIME WE DARE NOT SLUMBER. WE WILL WATCH OUR CHILDREN. WE WILL ENSURE THE CONNECTION PREVAILS.”
I agree with their intentions. Room must be made.
Someone shoves me hard, and my head slams into my window. I’m back in the real world. The car is stalled on the side of the road. Everyone is rushing to see if we’re okay. Chloe whimpers when she looks at me.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You were freaking out,” Bex says.
“You were raving about killing children,” Sienna adds.
I rub my temples. They feel hot. My pulse taps against my fingertips. A fresh headache is biting into my skull.
“I’m sorry. Where are we?”
“We’re here,” my father says. “Or at least as close as we’re going to get.”
I have to shield my eyes from the glare of headlights ahead of us. The on-ramp to the Verrazano Bridge is crowded with cars, and the line goes back for what looks like miles. People have abandoned their vehicles, going by foot toward Brooklyn. They pass us, hefting huge packs and rifles strapped across their backs.
“Who are all these people?” I ask.
“I think they’re my fans,” Bex quietly cheers. “They’re here because I asked them to come.”
“I wasn’t expecting this many,” my mother says when she approaches our car.
“I’m sort of a big deal,” Bex says.
“Johar said he’d be waiting on the other side,” Maggie says, craning her neck to look over the crowd.
“We can’t drive through that. We have to go the rest of the way by foot,” Riley says. “What do we do if this turns out to be a huge setup?”
“Make them regret it,” I say.
“The big shots will be recognized the second we step into that mob,” my dad says, gesturing to Bex and me. He removes his hat and tucks it down over my head. Riley gives Bex his jacket and adjusts the hood so it covers part of her face. “Spread out a little. Don’t make eye contact with anyone, but don’t be unfriendly either. Just try to blend in for the first time in your lives.”
“And keep an eye on one another,” my mother urges the rest of the group as we grab our things out of the SUVs.
“I hate this plan,” my father growls as he hefts a pack onto his shoulders. He turns to me and takes my hand. “Keep your head down. You’re carrying my grandson.”
“How?” I say, surprised that he knows the truth.
“The pregnancy test package blew back into the yard.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“I’m furious with you,” he admits. “I also love you with all my heart. We’re going to be okay, you know. We’re going to rescue his father. Just keep your head down.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He lets me out of his bear hug but keeps his hands on my forearms. “No, Lyric. Don’t do that. Just stay alive.”
“I will if you will,” I say.
We drift into the crowd slowly and confidently, acting like we’re supposed to be there, just like everyone else. We nod at strangers as they pass by, avoiding the snares of their frantic energy. There is a vibration, a mix of anger and eagerness and fear coming off everyone, but there’s also a feeling of patriotism and justice and a sense that they are crossing this bridge to do something important. People push through the mob, loaded down with their supplies, blinking into the rising sun. It turns the guns they have in their hands into white-hot diamonds.
Chloe tries to stick close to me, but Riley pulls her away with him. Mom walks with Brady. My father teams up with Finn. Maggie and Sienna and the rest form teams of two. Bex and I stay together. It’s probably not wise. She draws attention without any help from me, but I want her near.
“So, what are we going to find on the other side?” I say.
Bex waves her tiny video camera in every direction to capture the scene around us. “Some people have sent in drones, but they get shot out of the sky. The government does not want the public to see what they are doing on the beach. There were some shots from a couple miles in the sky, but it’s hard to see anything but the outline of things. Johar’s pics were the best I’ve seen.”
“This just gets better and better,” I say as we continue onward.
We move through the crowds, zigging and zagging to make our way. People are climbing on top of abandoned cars, being general ass-hats and showoffs, but we pay them no mind. Others have set up tents, right here on the bridge. Another has a keg set up in the back of a pickup truck. He’s selling plastic cups of mostly foam for twenty dollars. People are actually buying them. The farther we go, the more unusual the crowd gets. People in mermaid costumes hold signs that say FREEDOM. I spot a man, clearly on drugs, wandering around dressed only in an American flag. My heart sinks with every step. These are the people we asked to join us. They aren’t fighters. They’re not ready for the Tardigrade. This is a house party. This is Coachella.
A kid walks past us. He’s a white boy with dreads and cargo shorts. He looks like he’s on his way to an Ultimate Frisbee tournament rather than a fight to save the world. He gives Bex a once-over and grins.
“Hey,” he offers.
She gives him a noncommittal head tilt, and he drops back, rejected.
“This plan has only one ending. We’re doomed,” I say.
“No, we give the Tardigrade the Brooklyn beat-down, just like we do every time,” Bex says.
“When did you get so brave?”
“You didn’t just say that. I’ve always been the badass of this duo,” she preaches.
I can’t argue. She’s right.
We put our heads down and push forward. The farther we go, the tighter the crowds. I start to worry if we’ll be able to get to the other side. The bridge is a massive structure, probably a mile of concrete and steel and cable. Two colossal archways rise up toward the clouds. Tethers run along their crowns, connecting one end to the other and supporting the whole thing hundreds of feet above the river. Below is the Narrows, a perpetually brown waterway that keeps Jersey from ever attaining the effortless cool of its neighbor. I catch glimpses of it through the crowd as the sun bounces off its surface, turning the world into a disco ball. I can’t help but worry about how many people are up here, how many cars have been abandoned, how much weight this bridge was designed to hold. It’s windy as hell, and I can feel its bullying force, causing the bridge to sway back and forth. There are walkways on either side of us, but they are largely ignored. The main road is where everyone wants to be, thousands of people forming one gigantic organism.
“What’s
I look up and see a helicopter hovering overhead. It slowly descends, careful to stay away from the cables. White Tower’s logo is painted on the belly.
“It’s Johar,” Bex says. “He actually showed!”
“No! Look!” I point to the open door on the side of the chopper. Leaning out of it is Samuel Lir.
The crowd noise morphs to a scream, and there’s a mad push to get away from either side of the bridge. There are two waterspouts, one to the left and one to the right, rising and churning like tornadoes. They sail high above and meet just beneath the helicopter. Samuel leaps out and lands on his strange creation and it lowers him to the bridge.
The tornadoes fall from the sky and crash down on the crowd, washing hundreds over the side. Screams fill the air as survivors race in both directions. A stampede of panic pushes everyone away, so that when Samuel’s feet touch the concrete only a few yards away, there are only Bex and myself to greet him.
“Samuel, what have you done?”
“They were traitors. All of you are traitors. This stupid revolution of yours has to be stopped,” he cries.
“You just killed all those people,” Bex rages. “They’re dead because of you.”
Dread fills me as I worry that my family and friends were among those swept off the side.
“They made their choice,” he says, unapologetically.
He’s so angry. He’s had a long time to get bitter, and now that he’s healthy again and with power he never imagined, he’s eager to make people pay. Reasoning with him is pointless. I tried it before. He’s not going to listen to me, not anymore, and the rest of my team is locked in a human cage. I can’t let him hurt Bex.
“Samuel, you have to let us go,” I say.
He frowns. “You are a wanted criminal, and I’ve come to take you into custody. Please just surrender. You brought little kids with you, and I’d hate to see this escalate.”
“Samuel, there are monsters you haven’t seen yet, and they are on the way here. They’re planning to kill everything in their path, and I believe they can do it. If we are going to have any chance, I need the Alpha. I need you, too. I need everyone, these soldiers, civilians, the entire world has to get ready to fight. Please, help us.”
“You lie,” he says. “I’m going to give you one last chance, Lyric, and then I’m going to put you down. Give up now!”
“I don’t know what she’s done to you, Samuel. Your father is in one of these cages on the beach. How can you turn your back on him?”
“My mother and father are dead, Lyric. Everyone from Trident is dead. Ms. Bachman hated to do it, but she didn’t have any choice. They wanted to close the camp. She couldn’t let the sickness infecting my mom spread, and she couldn’t let the Alpha continue their war on humanity.”
“She killed our parents?” a voice says from the crowd. Riley pushes through, his face frantic and broken.
“What about the other hybrid kids?” I demand.
“She did the right thing,” Samuel says.
Riley’s glove burns brighter than any I’ve seen. Before I can tell him to stop, a flume of seawater lifts him off the ground, shoots him like a cannonball at Samuel. The attack is brutal, fists out, fast as hell. Samuel’s reactions are slow. He’s still not able to use his powers to their fullest potential, and his body, though miraculous, is not what it used to be. He throws up a wall of liquid, but Riley slams through it and crashes into the boy. Samuel flies backward, five, ten, maybe even fifteen feet. I’ve never seen anyone get hit that hard.
Riley lands effortlessly. He stomps across the bridge, stalking my old friend. He’s crying, his face streaming tears. His mouth is ugly and broken.
“They never did anything wrong,” he shouts.
Samuel staggers to his feet. He’s wounded and off balance, but his hand is as white-hot as Riley’s. He throws a wave so vicious that Riley is swept to the side of the bridge and tumbles off.
“NO!” I scream. I race to the side, hoping he’s found some handhold to keep him alive, but even before I get there, his body rises above on a spout that sets him back on safe ground.
He creates missiles out of the liquid and fires them one after another, like a rocket launcher. Each crashes into Samuel’s chest, forcing him backward foot by foot.
Samuel fires a string of water like a whip. It crashes into Riley and slams him onto his back. Samuel stalks toward him, hovering overhead with his serpentine weapon.
“We are freaks,” he rages at Riley. “We should never have been born. Our Alpha parents planned to use us in their war. How can you mourn someone who uses you like a weapon? They would have thrown us into the fight. That was why they had children, Riley.”
“You know what? When you got hurt, everyone felt bad for you. It was hard to see you in that wheelchair, especially since you were gonna be a big star, play college ball, and get out of the Zone. But I never thought that. You were always arrogant. Being in a wheelchair only gave you time to perfect what an asshole you are.”
Riley fires a watery fist into Samuel, who topples. He stands over Samuel as he recovers, and turns off his glove. He grabs Samuel by the shirt collar, drags him to his feet, and slugs him. Blood shoots out of his mouth, and he groans. Before Samuel can defend himself, Riley punches him again.
Bex races to my side. “I guess this is going old school.”
Samuel scampers back, trying to avoid Riley’s punches, only to suffer his kicks. He’s beaten, bleeding from his mouth and his nose, scared like a cornered animal. He’s been here before, the last time at the brutal hands of a paranoid street gang called the Niners; this time it’s a kid who is just like him. There’s fear in his face as Riley takes him down one punch at a time. He’s seeing another wheelchair in his future.
“Where is she, Samuel?” Riley demands. “Where is she hiding? Why didn’t she wheel herself out here? Is she up in that helicopter?”
His glove glows. Water races skyward like a spear. It impales the chopper hovering just to the side of the bridge. Like a fish, it flops around, trying to free itself, but it’s caught. Whoever was inside it is probably dead. I watch it fall out of the air, drop below the bridge; a few seconds later, we hear the crash as it slams into the Narrows. Black smoke rises on both sides of us.
Samuel stands, then laughs. “She’s not here, Riley boy. She’s somewhere safe where no one will find her, and when she’s ready, she’ll come back better than ever. I’ll still be here to help her rid the world of the monsters, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. You won’t be around.”
The whip returns and flies through the air. It ties itself around Riley’s throat. He reaches up, trying to pull it free, but it’s water. He can’t get a handhold, and it’s strangling the life out of him.
“Samuel, let him go!” I shout.
If he can hear me, he doesn’t let on. He’s consumed with his anger and shaking with raw power.
“He’s going to kill him!” Bex gasps.
I have to stop him, but I’ve got nothing. If only I had my glove. Putting on the second one robbed me of all that power.
“Damn!” I shout, pulling my pack from my back and tossing it on the ground. I manage the zipper and open it wide, digging inside until I find what I need—Harrison’s glove.
“What are you doing?” Bex says.
“Something stupid,” I say over my shoulder. I’m already running, straight at Samuel. His back is to me. He’s taken me for granted again. Maybe when he gets his reboot, he’ll get some brains like Husk.
Before he can stop me, I’ve clamped the glove onto his free hand. He looks down at it and then at me. His eyes glow like there’s a star behind them. He has the power to kill us all now. When it happened to me, I could fly. I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t do, but he’s too confused to take advantage of what he’s feeling.
The gloves open and slide off his hands. His stranglehold on Riley ends, and the boy takes desper
“I can hear them,” he says.
I nod. “Welcome to the family, Samuel. Those voices belong to the Tardigrade. They’re coming to kill everyone, Alpha and human. No one will survive. You have to stop fighting us. We have important things to do.”
I help Riley to his feet, then gesture for Bex. “C’mon.”
We point ourselves toward Brooklyn and start walking. The crowd of petrified people stares at us, then move aside to let us pass. I hear my name in whispers. I see people watching Bex in awe, but they don’t stop us. Along the way, my parents join me, then the other kids, and when I look back, I see that the space they gave us is filled with people, all following us across the bridge. I have my army.
When we get to the other side, there is another black helicopter waiting. It has a White Tower logo on the side too. Soldiers stand by with AK-47s. The door opens, and Thomas Johar steps out in a suit. He smiles.
“I assume everything went smoothly.”
I have to hold my father back from punching him in the nose.
Chapter Fourteen
“YOUR CALL TO ACTION PROVED SUCCESSFUL,” Johar shouts over the chopper blades as we fly above Brooklyn. The streets below are flooded with people, all walking to Coney Island. “The crowd is so huge outside the detention facility the government has reached out to Canada for military assistance. Canada respectfully declined. Ms. Conrad, you may have a bright future in public relations.”
“How many are out there?” my father says.
“We’ve estimated five hundred thousand,” Johar says. “But there are more on the way according to satellite images. We’re expecting close to a million by sunset. There should be more, but there have been a number of problems at the state borders. A dozen people were shot and killed in Texas trying to get through. Tear gas was released in Tennessee, but the good news is that most of the states with fences have opened them rather than face a standoff.”
Bex looks at me with huge eyes.
“It might not make a difference if they shoot us out of the sky,” my father shouts.